


XX

by Roselyn



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Sex, Super Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24946702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselyn/pseuds/Roselyn
Summary: I am a bad girl, let’s start form there.An opportunist equipped with a healthy libido and a craving for adventure which would make the good church going girls with their pigtails to cry.I also happen to have a thing for super villains —a preference which I do not shout from the rooftops.That’s one of the reasons why I moved to Vector City. Here, everyone is a villain, in one way or another. The cops are crooked, the so called ‘good citizens’ lock their mansions firmly for the night while our few vigilantes patrol the streets in hopes to cut down the crime.Here, in the sleepless sea of neon lights, I am at home.And my home is where my story starts, soon shooting through the hot nights of sweat, fancy outfits and hanging on the edge of my life while held at gunpoint.The thing about these super villains: You can never know whether they love you, or try to kill you. . .
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	XX

**Author's Note:**

> A pilot chapter to original work.  
> This is a first draft.  
> Tell me what you think.

The TV was on extraordinarily loud, even though I wasn’t watching it. It was merely on for some white noise, while I was making supper. It made me feel safer, since I was home alone. I often am: This is my very first own apartment. No roomies, no hostess, no problem. Just sweet never ending privacy a flat of two rooms can offer to a young woman of twenty four years under her belt.

The importance messaging theme of the news filled the apartment, mixing to the distant sound of sirens. The broadcast was filled with the recent crimes of Vector, as always. It sounded like the VCPD was going to have a busy night.

The mention of Heaven prickled my interest and so I left the kitchen counter, making my way to the couch with a cucumber sandwich in hand.

The most dangerous prisoners had escaped the ‘rehabilitation centre’ again, it seemed, and all citizens of Vector were advised to stay indoors for the night.

For me that would be easy. It was Monday, so there was no work tonight. I do only three nights a week, cleaning one of Vector’s museums. It doesn’t earn me much, just enough to stay in food. Uncle Frederic is the one who pays my rent. He work’s for Benjamin Adlen, the son of Mayor Adlen. Ben’s more interested in Vector City’s night life than politics. He’s a billionaire, become rich by stock market and not in good terms with his father. Uncle Freddie is his. . . Well I’d call him a house slave, since he works as a driver, bodyguard, secretary —even as occasional chef, but I suppose the proper name to describe his job is a household professional. A modern butler, in other words.

Uncle Freddie has offered me housing in the Adlen manor, and ‘Master’ Ben has offered the same, but as always, I decline. I am not overly fond of Ben, or his playboyish macho man behavior, for that matter. I tolerate him because he can be kind, (and is my uncle’s open handed employer) but I could never imagine myself living under his roof, even as a friend.

The news switch on to a weather report, and I sigh with mild disappointed. A glimpse of the mentioned criminal masterminds would have brought some excitement to my eve. In a way, some dark, twisted part of me has always been intrigued by the Vector’s most wanted and dangerous. Excited by them, even. . .

But hey, what can I say? I am bad girl; there is nothing else I can justify my preferences with. The criminals intrigue me. It’s not the danger, I can tell that right away. No one likes to end up as their victim, certainly not me. I think there’s something deeper at work here, lurking under the surface. I feel . . . connected to them, I dare say. Neglected by the society and hit on the head by life a couple of times too many. . . what’s there not to like about these underdogs, who finally have made something of themselves? Hell, I should make this an official term: I’m a super villain sexual.

I finish my sandwich, ready to go to bed. The weather report is of little use and interest to me; it’s almost October, so it rains almost every day.

I had just turned off the TV, when the door of my two-room apartment flew open, scraping paint from the wall where the knob had smashed. For a moment and against all logic, I thought it was Uncle Freddie, coming to take me to the manor because of the news, but the figure was much too slender to pass for my uncle.

It took a moment till I realized who I was looking at. The slim tall posture, white bleached hair, excessive use of eyeliner and white painted face, combined to black and white steampunk clothes featuring a waistcoat and a tailed jacket. . .

On an instinct, I rushed towards the bread knife I had left lying on the counter; that was, till I realized a gun was pointed at me.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. So unwelcoming! I wouldn’t do that if I were you. . .” the low, yet soft voice spoke scoldingly at me.

“What- what are you doing here- what do you want?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

The Ace had broken into my apartment, if I even had remembered to lock the door. My racing mind refused to remember it at the moment. Had the chain been on before he kicked the door in?

The former street magician stilled, tilting his head slightly. He might have smiled, thought I couldn’t tell for sure; his face remained mostly in the shadows. “Well what do ya know! I recognize you from the paper, you’re one of Ben Adlen’s bangs, aren’t you?”

The paper? It must have been the picture of Ben talking to me, while I had come to say hello to Uncle Freddie at downtown. Paparazzi had snapped a pick of us, and it had soon gotten published under the headline: “Billionaire’s mysterious girlfriend.”

I didn’t have time to reply, when the Ace continued with overly relaxed shrug, “This sure beats all the odds. I mean, of all the apartments in Vector, I ended up in yours.” He licked his cracked dry lips, taking a step forward. “Stitch me up, toots.”

“W-what?” I stuttered, trying to get my frozen brains to work.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” the magician asked quirking a brow, making a small move with his gun.

Only now, I noticed his other hand was pressed to a wound at the left side of his abdomen and his purple leather glove was dyed red with blood.

“I-I’m not sure if I know how to—”

“ ’Course you do. Just dig the bulled out and stitch up the wound; don’t worry, they shot from a far and almost missed; you won’t have to dig deep. . .”

“But shouldn’t you go to a hospital or something, if you’ve been shot?” I asked, slightly lowering my hands. I hadn’t even noticed I raised them at some point. The sight of blood was making me slightly dizzy. And worried.

The Ace let out a short laughter. “Do I look like a guy who can just walk into a hospital? What are you, toots; a model to be so smart? They’ll lock me up to Heaven again and I just escaped. No. No, I think you’ll be the one doing the honors.”

“O-okay.”

The Ace tightened the grip from his gun impatiently as I shifted. “Nuh-uh; and where do you think you’re going?”

“Whoa! Easy, easy,” I said, deciding it was best to do by the magician’s will and act all nice. He was the most unpredictable of Vector’s criminals. Suffering from a borderline personality disorder, bipolarity, narcissism and other currently undefined things, I did not wish to get on his bad side.

“I’m just going to get a needle and something suitable for the stitching. It’s all in the kitchen’s upper closet, see? I’m just going to get it, alright?”

“Never can be too careful,” the Ace stated, still pointing his gun at me. He took a slightly shaking step forward and I noticed he had started to sweat off some of his face paint. “Plenty of crazies out there, you can never know which ones will try to kill you ya,” he added with a maniacal grin.

 _If I made him to wait long enough, would he faint?_ I wondered, taking my time.

The thing about Heaven was, that once people were put in, they came out even more broken. More crazed and delusional. —Or they escaped before their release, as Ace had done. Again. It must have been his eleventh or twelfth escape, I haven’t kept precise count.

The Ace noticed my dwelling attempt, of course, urging me to move faster by a short wave of his gun. “Come’ ere, closer, closer.”

And at the moment I was close enough, the Ace fell to sit on the couch, pulling me roughly down with him. “That’s a good girl; now do your _trick_ ,” he urged stressing the final syllabi, while aiming the gun at my temple.

With slightly shaking hands I chose a suitable needle from my mother’s old sewing box, deciding it was probably the best to use the same string for stitching, my father had used for making flies. As ironic as it might have been, it also was in the same box. Now, all I had to worry about was getting the bullet out. . .

The Ace was again getting frustrated by my slowness, pressing the gun tighter against my head. “Are you annoying me on purpose, ‘cuz if you are . . .” he formed the silent word _bang_ with his lips.

“Alright, alright. I- I need to open your shirt to- deal with the wound.”

“No one’s been stoppin’ you, Hun.” He gave me a tired grin. “But seriously, are you a model, an actress? What sort of women does the billionaire stick it in, I’ve always wondered. . .”

“I’m a cleaning lady,” I replied evenly, praying in my mind nothing would trigger off the crazed magician to shoot my brains out.

The Ace sniggered at my words. It was an oddly high sound, compared to his voice. His laugh was almost girlish. “A cleaning lady? You one of those fancy French ones?”

“No, I clean up a museum, part time,” I said, uncertain whether I should have felt offended, or flattered by his snarky comments and assumptions. Nevertheless, I undid the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. I probably could have done it a lot faster, if my hands wouldn’t have shook so badly.

“This will hurt,” I warned, glancing at the magician with a pair of small dull-tipped scissors in my hand. They were the only tool I had, suitable for digging out the bullet. I could perhaps have gone to get a tea-spoon, but being under the persuasive angle of his gun, it did not come to mind just then. Luckily, just as the former street performer had said, the bullet wasn’t deep and I was able to see its metallic shine, despite the blood.

The Ace raised his brows, giving me the _‘no shit’_ expression. But then again this kind of act must have already been familiar to him, judging from the multiple scars at his upper body. And as I removed the bullet, he barely made a grunt. I gasped rather loudly however, feeling sick by the amount of blood. But as the gun barrel against my forehead worked as an effective motivator, I cleaned up the wound, stitching it with the best of my ability.

“I-I’m done now. Will you- will you let me go?”

“Will I let you go?” the magician snorted quietly, his dark eyes suddenly brightening up. “Yes. No. Maybe? Even I don’t know what it’ll be. Just look at _you!_ You’re trembling. But you sure did make good job with the wound, toots,” he added, almost kindly, then pressing the gun barrel tighter against my forehead. “Now lean in, and kiss it _aaaal_ better.”

Shaking, my eyes moist, I leaned in to press my lips on the freshly stitched wound. The magician was going to kill me, I was sure of it.

Why? Oh why it had to be me? He could have broken in any of the apartments in Vector. . . and he had ended up in mine. . .

The Ace shifted with the feel of contact, letting out a small pleased noise, the kind which I would not have preferred to hear. Yet, I couldn’t deny the groan had been slightly arousing. That there wasn’t anything charismatically appealing about the crazed trickster. . .

He grabbed my face as I made and attempt to pull away, leaving red stain on my cheek from his bloody glove.

“You’re not done yet, toots; I want you to kiss _all_ of them, better,” he stated in a low murmur, running his blood stained thumb along my cheek.

Flinching, I leaned in, kissing his body with trembling lips. His skin was pale, smooth and warm. And for a moment, I forgot I had my lips on a mentally insane criminal.

Ace’s breathing got slightly faster, along with my own. I noticed I had started to get wet, while squirmed slightly at his feet. 

And the magician was getting comfortable; it appeared, the bulge appearing quite visible in his trousers.

“Oh you’re a good one. Should’ve become a nurse instead of a cleaning lady,” he murmured with a chuckle, eyes closed and head leaned back in pleasure.

I made an approving humming sound, ready to unbuckle his belt. If blowing the trickster was going to prevent my brains form being shot out, I was game.

The Ace stopped me, however, nearly hysteric with his silent giggles.

“Easy toots, I’ve got a girlfriend! Besides you’ve got a date tonight. It’s not with me, though,” he added, sniggering. And knocked me out with the butt of his pistol. . .


End file.
